Virulent Epiphany

‘I know this is a haphazard idea, but I can make it to New York City in forty-five hours. I could conceivably make it in 2-3 days. I know where Missy lives and it’s of superior importance that I see her. If we don’t get back together, then I will endeavor to kill Mayor Louis Washington. He is a miserly, impudent prick. I’ve been fantasizing about this act of vengeance for quite some time. A man can’t find a more spectacular attention-getter than a planned and armed standoff!--.. Maybe I’ll kill him just because no New York Mayor should have the last name Washington--.. Washington is a mean and grasping person. Someone so currish and ill bred deserves what he gets! He lives in a manse when he should be living in the garbage-strewn, crime-ridden, crack-vial streets. The onerous streets of stale piss, fresh blood, and cold, bitter perspiration. The Dantesque streets where life is sober, sour, and stark. The bleak and chaste streets where once a long, long time ago, everything was rosy, white, and propitious. The puritanical streets that once had been fortunate and optimistic--..The astringent streets that once had been faithful and simon-pure--.Avenues filled with garish and vulgar, lowly-smiling, humiliated eyes-blinking, poor women..alongside tinsely, tasteless rich ones--The boulevards ripe with sad penury, extreme poverty, and tightfisted frugality--The exacting and austere roads paved with rashness and recklessness..That lead to a courageous city that’s run by a lumbering and unskillful idiot--.I’ll kill him and start a second state government, one that tries to care for, and protect its citizens. My speech to the media will be quick and aphoristic. The thought of murdering the President is appetizing, but he appears to be impregnable--. On my marble tombstone it will read ‘The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with the bones.’ I’ll thank Marc Antony of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar in my epitaph. I’ll get a shiny, hardcover book in the biography section of every local library. Arthur Bremer shot Alabama Governor George Corley Wallace in 1971 so he could get his ugly, grimacing mug on the television. There has been significant expansion of that medium since then. There are probably about five hundred more stations. Each one is more negligible, and slight than the other. He had no ideological or political motivations--.. John Hinckley really believed that if he shot President Ronald Reagan, that he and Travis Bickle’s hooker, Jodie Foster, would be forever united in heaven. Maybe some day they will be! He called it destiny. I disagree. There is no such thing as destiny. I hate that fucking term! Is America destined to become a dictatorship? Is our government destined to control the lives, ideas, and fortunes of its citizens? If one boy is destined for greatness.. is another boy destined to starve to death and then have the famished and voracious crows pick his bones?-- Is a man destined to be tormented with a violent cough his entire life?--. My insightful book "The Uncultivated American," will capture the very essence of these eminent topics. It will manage to extract the absolute truth from a bonanza of lies. Nothing will prevent me from completing it. I will undoubtedly be celebrated someday soon! This will be my proverbial "crowning achievement."